On the Passing Of Our Little Friends
A warm spot in our laps was always best
For sitting,
To follow with their eyes
Some indescribable wonder,
Or to turn in
And curl toward us as if
We were simply a quaint place to visit
Where they might fall asleep.
How, O how can they
Be such part of us that we are changed when they are gone,
That we feel the empty place
Where warmth should live
That vibration that stills all
Should not be there...
We can know they did a service,
But we know not why
We feel a little less...
We say our prayers,
Command the Earth to come
Under Dominion,
Yet we cannot save them.
Perhaps it will not help
That we are strong,
Or that we cared for them...
Had patience with their faults
(As they did with ours)
But when we dream,
I think they visit us in Heaven,
And are newly changed
Into a New Thing,
And They Remember Us.
Sorrow is not assuaged, you see,
Except by the small things of life,
The ones who warm our way
And help us Home.
When, We in our Salvation, Rise,
Then we can give the Gift Promised,
And render for service given in faithfulness,
A Gift of Life.
This is the Promise
And the Chance we hope for,
For we do not forget their helpfulness
Or their sweet presence on the chair,
When we remember,
Let our tearing up
Cleanse us of Impatience,
And teach us
That it is the small things of Life
That bless us most.
So let us dream in Heaven
That the Courage of their Essence
Will return
In other form,
And saying goodbye
Will someday bear its Sacred Fruit
And bless them with the Hope of Paradise
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